


teenage wasteland

by ShadesinBlue



Series: patience [5]
Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 09:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadesinBlue/pseuds/ShadesinBlue
Summary: “Don’t,” Saul mutters, voice low. “Don’t fucking think of him when you’re with me.”(a morning after. a kiss. mutually assured destruction.)





	teenage wasteland

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything and the following is a complete work of fiction.  
> Many thanks to [inkk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkk/pseuds/inkk) for assisting on this story.  
> Title is taken from Lana Del Rey's "Prom Song Gone Wrong(Teenage Wasteland)"

The morning air is cool across Duff’s face, a gentle breeze that settles the violent rolling of his stomach. Last night was a horrible mistake for many reasons. Duff knows he never should have been that drunk, never should have let his guard down like he did. He can still taste vomit in his mouth despite scrubbing it out earlier. If he focuses hard enough, Duff can even remember the feeling of a soft hand on the center of his back anchoring him to Earth through the haze of alcohol. The voice, gritty with suppressed anger, murmuring in his ear telling him he’d be okay.

What a fucking joke. Yet again, Axl Rose gets the upper hand, gets to watch Duff make a fool of himself in front of a room full of strangers. Axl gets to be the perfect ex-boyfriend, angry because he’s concerned for Duff—because he cares. It burns behind Duff’s eyes, fizzes like stomach acid up his throat; the words Axl had tossed his way, brutally honest with nothing to lose. Duff wants to scream, wants to break the world apart with his anger. Because it isn’t just Axl, not really. It’s the way his mother won’t ever say she’s proud no matter how much he takes on, how many responsibilities he juggles while jumping through hoops. It’s the fact that the pressure to _keep up, do better, smile, come on McKagan you’re better than this_ is weighing Duff down like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders. How he has no friends, except this group of punks who tolerate him because he’s willing to do anything to fit in and they love to laugh at the punchline he’s become.

All Duff has is Saul, that’s the sad truth of it. Saul who practically worships the mask Michael puts on to become Duff. Which is why Saul can never be in love with him. Because as desperately as Michael wishes, he is not Duff. As far as Saul knows, Duff got up this morning and brushed the other night off for the mistake it clearly was. Duff doesn’t have regrets, doesn’t get embarrassed the way ordinary people like Michael might. Saul doesn’t see the way Michael is curled up for protection in Duff, licking the wounds seeing Axl last night had left. It’s almost funny, like another joke in the many jokes that make up Duff’s life; that the only way for Duff to be himself anymore is to get plastered out of his mind, until he can’t help but to lose control.

“Get outta your head, McKagan.  Can’t follow ya there,” Saul breathes out around his cigarette. He offers it to Duff, his soft brown eyes peeking out from behind the mass of curls. Duff accepts, grateful for the distraction from his thoughts. Axl used to tell him he’d get lost in his head if he wasn’t careful.

“Sorry. Just thinkin’ about that dance I shared with the kid from town over.” Duff shudders, coughing up smoke. The fumes escape out of the windows of Duff’s car. “Can’t believe you let me do that.” The image of Nikki leering under flashing lights comes to mind before Duff firmly shoves the thought aside.

Saul grins. He plucks the cigarette out of Duff’s hands, twirls it between clever fingers better served with playing guitar. “Sucks to suck, babe. You dance with someone that’s not me, I get to let Nikki cop a feel on your sorry ass.” He takes a pull from the stick, blows the smoke into Duff’s face. “I don’t make the rules, just follow ‘em.”

“You say so, Hudson.”

Saul nods, sagely. “Besides, I still dragged ya home, didn’t I? Had to haul you up through your window and everything.” Saul shoots Duff a look from under long soot-black lashes. “Don’t I deserve some sorta reward for that?”

There’s barely a pause before Duff leans forward to capture Saul’s mouth. The kiss tastes like ash, burnt and dirty. Saul bites down hard on Duff’s lip, drawing blood, before licking it up. Duff imagines himself as territory being marked. He feels nothing. Eyes squeezed closed, Duff remembers the way Axl had stayed with him looking like a put-upon babysitter while handing him off to Saul. Axl disappeared into the night after that, as if he’d never been there. Duff thinks he might have cried but can’t be sure.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by pain shooting up his neck from Saul’s teeth. The fucker bit him. Duff hadn’t even realized they’d stopped kissing.

Saul winds a hand through Duff’s fried hair, bronze skin interlaid with brassy gold. “Don’t,” Saul mutters, voice low. “Don’t fucking think of him when you’re with me.” He kisses Duff again, though it’s all teeth this time, harsh and demanding. Duff tries to keep up but he’s shoved away just when he finds the rhythm. Saul is breathing hard, watching him. Duff tries not to twitch under his gaze.

He opens his mouth to protest because that’s what he’s supposed to do in this situation.

“Stop.” Saul glares hard enough Duff feels it burning his skin. “Don’t lie to me either, man. I’m not stupid.” Saul smirks but there’s no humor in it and for the first time, Duff wonders if he’s the only one wearing a mask.

Saul leans in until their breaths mingle again, dark eyes glittering as they hook onto Duff’s. “You think you’re the only one to have your pretty little heart stepped on by Axl?” It’s something in Saul’s voice, an underlying ache to the words that Duff recognizes.

“What,” he half whispers back, shocked. Axl and Slash. Who would’ve thought? The gnarled coil of rage wrapped around Duff’s insides tightens. “You-

“Yeah.” Saul’s answer is barely more than warm air on Duff’s face. “Yeah, we did. Loved him, too, but it wasn’t enough. Could never get near him, ya know?” Duff does know and it hurts, this knowledge in the face of Saul’s confession.

Duff tries to think of anything to say but he can only manage to choke out, “What?” The word is painful to say, Duff’s throat clenching before he can get anything else past his lips.

“Who do you think gave me this stupid ass nickname, Duffy?” The mocking tone in Saul’s voice brings tears to Duff’s eyes for a split second before he swallows hard against the emotion, blinking to clear his eyes.

Saul catches it, expression softening. He climbs over the seat, straddling Duff’s lap as he carefully tucks strands of hair behind Duff’s ears. The tears build again, falling before Duff can stop them. He feels stripped of everything, crying over his broken heart with another beautiful boy in his lap that can do nothing to stop the aching in his chest. Saul bends to kiss the tears away, his lips soft, eyelashes fluttering against Duff’s wet skin.

“Come on, baby. Don’t cry.” Saul wipes Duff’s eyes with his thumbs, cradling his face like Duff is made of glass and is seconds from shattering. “Michael, sweetheart, please,” Saul murmurs against Duff’s cheek, “Please, let me be good to you. I’ll be so damn good to you, I swear. I’ll make you forget. Just let me help.”

Duff peers at Saul through the haze of his tears, eyelashes sticking together in damp clumps. In this light, Saul glows golden. He’s looking at Duff, open, eyes free from the barrier of his hair. It’s the first time they’re truly seeing each other, Duff thinks. And Saul still isn’t Axl, still doesn’t make Duff feel like he’s facing the end of an unknown road—but he’s here. He’s the one keeping Duff warm. Duff meets Saul’s eyes, and he nods.

Saul smiles like liquid sunshine, beaming at Duff like he hung the moon. Their foreheads rest together, breaths shared, in the small driver’s seat.

Duff finds his voice, finally. “We still have to go to that kegger tonight.” This one is being hosted by another local punk who Duff hasn’t met. He’s been dreading tonight but not going means admitting defeat and Duff is nothing if not stubborn.

“I know,” Saul says, eyes closed. He chews on his lip for a moment before opening his eyes to meet Duff’s. “Axl might be there.”

“Yeah,” Duff says quietly, “I know.”

“No drinking tonight?” It’s a question but Saul already knows the answer.

“Maybe not tonight.” Saul shifts on top of Duff, reaches into the pocket of his worn jean jacket. His hand emerges, clutching a small bag filled with white powder.

“Just hear me out,” Saul says, raising a hand before Duff can protest. “You wanna go, have a good time with me? Forget Axl for a second?” He shakes the bag in a noiseless rattle. “This is it, McKagan. Baby, you’ll feel so good, won’t even remember his name.” Saul’s fingers rub circles on Duff’s upper arms. “Try it.”

Duff opens his mouth to refuse. But there’s that familiar tug of anger, of defiance in his bones. If Axl already thinks he’s a mess, might as well play the part.

“Just this once,” Duff says, holding Saul’s eyes. They both know, he thinks, that’s not true.

 

+

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's quite a bit more in this series so look out for further installments.


End file.
